Posh Snippets
by LicketySplat
Summary: She's rather like bubblegum tangled in your hair - persistant and tenacious, Minako thinks. You either patiently pick it out and save the strands, or you give up and chop the damned lock off. Rei/Mina. AU. Yuri.
1. Bad Hair Day

This refused to leave me alone. It's complete, undilted fluff in my books. But ah, it gives a good feeling and frankly, that's all I care about during this lovely pre-Christmas period. I know, I know, it's about hair again. And don't give me that look. Hardly any of you can say you can't identify with me on this on some level. So there. Anyways, this'll run on for a few chapters only with no real plotline whatsoever. For all you currently anti-angst peeps out there, this is for you. XD

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**Posh Snippets**

_by_

_LicketySplat_

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**Chapter 1: Bad Hair Day**

Minako lifted mahogany hair with her fingers and cut in a single slanted snip.

She grabbed the blow-dryer deftly and did a quick sweep of her work, patting it down and applying some hair serum to the strands. "How do you find it Kino-san?" she held a mirror up to the back of the customer's new 'do, cocking her head to the side with a smile. "It's lighter now, more bouncy, but I've kept the volume as you requested."

A gratified smile lit the woman's youthful face and Minako did a mental cheer. "Aino-san, I love it!" the culinary chef beamed, running her fingers through her mane of lush brown hair, playing with her now tapered bangs, testing Minako's handiwork. "This'll be perfect for my date tonight!"

"So who's the lucky man?" Minako questioned politely as she tidied up her work space and kept all her instruments. While Kino Makoto was easily the most regular customer she has had the past year, she had to keep up her professional demeanor as best as she could. That didn't keep her from the occasional teasing though. She grinned cheekily. "Oh don't tell me you finally plucked up the courage to ask _him _out. It's rather backwards now isn't it? He's been working in _your_ kitchen, under _you_ for a year alrea-"

"Aino-san!" Makoo flushed prettily. "I didn't ask him. He offered dinner as a repayment for crashing into me in the kitchen. You should've seen the mess!" She shook her head and sighed.

"But if it earned you a date, who's complaining?" Minako dusted off Makoto's shoulders and chuckled at the young woman's reflection in all three angled mirrors as she gestured wildly.

"It's only out of obligation! There's probably nothing else behind all that!"

"Kino-san," Minako's tone was scolding as she walked Makoto to the counter. "You shouldn't be so self-deprecating. One is allowed to hope you know." She entered the payment for the haircut into the cash register as she added on, "Besides, he'd be a fool to not be interested in you now, if he isn't already."

Her loyal customer fluffed her hair. "It's all thanks to you then."

Minako looked up at her pointedly as she swiped the proffered credit card. "I wouldn't be able to do much if I hadn't been given such a fine canvas to work on. Now off with you! Remember, you're young, you're beautiful and you're single. What's there not to like?"

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for everything Aino-san!"

The bell above the salon's door chimed lightly as the leggy brunette left with a warm smile and an excited wave of her hand.

Minako let her smile linger on her face as she remained at the counter, surveying her employees at work, observing and noting with satisfaction, their dedication.

It was still early in the day and in the holiday month. Things usually got hectic in her salon a few weeks to Christmas, but that was to be expected – people had appearances to keep up, parties to attend, which meant Minako had appointments to meet.

For now, she wasn't due for one till another hour.

"Minako-san!" Michiru called out from the basins and pointed to where Minako was working on Makoto's hair before. "You want me to clean that up?"

"No, it's fine. I'll do it. Just give me a moment."

She slipped into one of the rather expensive hydraulic styling chairs she had chosen herself and picked up her equipment case. Minako stared at all three of her reflections – definitely not regretting being extra extravagant on the classy mirrors that formed a vague half-hexagon - and selected a handful of bobby pins, set to fix her own hair for the day. Michiru had graced her with her current cut and colour: Peek-a-boo bangs that fell just below her eyebrows and long layered tresses which curled in loose waves at the end down to the middle of her back. Michiru had given her a soft yet polished look with a finish of graduated red streaks in her blonde hair that she rather liked.

She held a couple of pins between her lips as her hands busied themselves with her hair, gathering the strands up with practiced ease and holding them in place with a quick twirl of a chopstick.

Minako was quite the looker, she knew, and she had been approached by modeling agencies within days of her being catapulted to fame after people found the name behind the edgy pixie crop that Japan's No.1 pop princess sported. But that fact didn't change her mind about being a professional hairstylist, and at the young age of 23, she dare said she was doing well. Exceedingly well, actually, said her bank account.

_There,_ she angled her head left and right, happy with how her chopstick hair bun turned out, and pinned some stray strands down, rising to get the vacuum cleaner from the supplies closet.

And it was at that moment that the bell above the salon's door tinkled with the entry of a customer.

She turned and her jaw dropped.

Now, in her line of work, she had seen plenty of gorgeous people, actors, actresses, singers, models, from the charismatic to the eccentric, from the broody to the flirty. Hell, some of them had even entrusted their crowning glory into her hands when she was still fresh to her overnight success.

But what she had never seen – or felt – before in her entire _life_, was how someone could manage to collectively rivet the attention of the entire salon, hairstylists and customers alike, from the moment a stiletto clad foot stepped through the door. It was like some unspoken but equally potent command. Everything and everyone was at a stand still, like one of those pointless children games where everyone would look ridiculous, frozen in whatever position they were caught in.

This clearly wasn't a game.

Because games didn't have raven sex bombs with fuck-me heels in them.

The only sound there was came from the suddenly horribly inappropriate Christmas music floating from the speakers and the flat whir of a blow-dryer that she knew was held in the stunned hand of one of her employees. At this point, she really didn't care who because her eyes were busy roaming the figure standing – no, _smoldering _mere metres from her.

A classic high ponytail, black straight cut jeans and a deep red spaghetti top with a burgundy blazer thrown over had never looked so good on anyone. _Ever_.

She finally thawed and reattached her lower mandible (she wasn't drooling, thank goodness), quickly walking towards the well-dressed woman by the counter who was taking off her aviator shades, and Minako tried in vain to steady her breathing. Her movement seemed to break the trance that everyone was in however, and they returned to what they were doing before, sneaking glances at the unfolding interaction.

Minako reassumed her professional air and flashed one of her most charming smiles. "Hi, welcome to Venus Vogue. Have a seat," she led the woman with an opened-palm gesture to a nearby chair. "I'll be with you shortly."

A single curt nod was what she got, and five-inch heels clacked against the floor, like hollow bursts of gunshots, as the woman all but glided into the chair with a grace that was the envy of all onlookers.

Minako took large strides to her equipment case and hurriedly straightened out her work attire of a form-fitting shirt and hip-hugging jeans when there was absolutely no urgent need to. She always looked impeccably presentable. There was something however, about the stunning woman that practically screamed at her to look her best, and she had to toss a glance over her shoulder to ensure that there really wasn't a sign hovering above the woman's head that said precisely that.

As she walked briskly back to her new customer, she passed Haruka who spared her a '_ganbate!_' and a thumbs up before resuming her task of highlighting a patron's hair. On any other day, she would have merely rolled her eyes, but today seemed to beg all the luck she could get. She didn't know why.

"So, what can I do for you today?" Minako inquired, winning smile in place as she gently tugged off the silk hair tie and ran her fingers through vibrant black tresses, getting a feel of its volume and condition. She marveled at the silky texture and approved of the care the luxurious mane clearly got.

Smoky violet eyes met hers in the mirror as a velvety voice spoke. Minako barely repressed a delightful shudder. "Just a trim and a wash, Aino-san."

Good communication on a personal level was highly important in her line of work, yet she had all but forgotten her customary conduct. "Ah, I'm sorry. Where are my manners?" she apologized and placed both hands on the shoulders in front of her, feeling a tingle creep up her spine. "How may I address you?"

Full lips curved up in a light smile. "Hino Rei."

The name rang a bell, but she couldn't place a finger on it. She pushed the thought aside for the moment.

Minako clicked open her case and fished out her favourite pair of light-weight scissors, perfect for clean cuts. "Would you like to keep the length?" She inspected the ends and picked out several split ones. "Or would you mind about an inch off? The ends are rather . . . disobedient." Her voice carried gentle laughter as she gazed intently at Rei's reflection before her, admiring the high cheekbones and strong bone structure.

"Whatever you think is best, Aino-san."

There was a pause as their gazes remained locked, and then Rei purred, _"Pamper me."_

The last request was so sensual that she had to fight to force down a rising blush. Her knees had gone remarkably wobbly. She focused instead on making small talk, hoping that she wasn't being too flustered as she put her arms around Rei's shoulders to pull a plastic sheet in place. "You have very lovely hair Hino-san, great elasticity, good shine . . . What products do you use?"

Minako clipped up sections of thick ebony hair, beginning from the bottom up. Rei's hair was rather straight, curling only slightly at the ends and since it was layered from her previous cut, Minako thought it safer to work around the style.

"My own."

Minako looked up sharply, her hands paused mid-cut. "Your . . . own?"

Smooth laughter gushed from smiling lips. Rei looked straight at Minako's reflection, bemused at her wide-eyed expression. "Homemade," she clarified. "For hair masks at least, though I do have bottles of Kerastase and Sebastian and other whatnots lying around."

Impressed, Minako resumed her work but couldn't refrain from pressing. "Homemade huh. Come now, let's not be selfish. Do share with me, Hino-san." She cracked an impish smile, feeling completely at ease with the woman before her all of a sudden.

Rei tutted disapprovingly, a roguish glint in her violet eyes. "I'm disappointed, Aino-san. Shouldn't you know that a woman's beauty secrets must never be shared? 'Every man is the architect of his own fortune', as they say."

"Yet I know that 'To teach, is to learn'," Minako riposted sagely, chuckling at the sculpted brow that the elegant woman raised. "'To give is better than to receive', blah blah blah . . . and all that proverbial mumbo jumbo." She chuckled and placed a foot to the pedal beneath the chair and raised it to have a better look at Rei's hair, studying the length with a trained eye. Plucking a comb from her case, she proceeded to cut long layers, giving more fullness to the bottom. She didn't have to look up to know that violet eyes were on her, watching her every movement, burning into her, calculating and considering.

"True, very true," the raven-haired beauty replied leisurely and tapped her chin in thought. "Give me a good scalp massage later and I'll let you in on one of my concoctions. What do you say, Aino-san?" Minako froze as Rei's eyes grew half-lidded. "Trade you a secret for a wash from your . . . _stimulating_ hands."

Said hands almost dropped the pair of scissors at the steamy whisper that the woman's contralto dropped to. Minako tried, but it was almost impossible to quell the pure bodily reflex of blood surging up to her face. She was convinced that no one – not even a nun – would be able to do so, short of turning into helpless putty on the salon floor.

"I uh . . . D-deal!"

"I'm looking forward to it, Aino-san" A slight pucker of lips, then a smirk.

Her mind wasn't on her work as much as it was acutely aware of the blazing trail that Rei's eyes lit ablaze as they roamed her face and what little of her body not hidden by the chair that could be seen in the mirror. She refused to look into them. She completely, adamantly, simply _refused_. The last thing she needed was for her co-workers to mop up an unsightly puddle of Minako from her spotlessly shiny floor. As it were, she could see Haruka openly laughing at her and Michiru trying in vain to stifle a chuckle out of the corner of her eye.

She was definitely holding back the bonuses this month.

_Idiots. We'll see who's laughing after a salary reduction._

She snipped away at raven strands, inwardly cursing to herself. Before her was a woman – hell, a sex goddess – who not only obviously knew she was drop-dead gorgeous, but knew damn well how to flaunt it. Minako was quite the flirt herself when she wanted to be, but Rei had shaken her, rattled her mercilessly with her presence on its own that she was far too disorientated to play dolls with her.

_Damn her._

Despite her imperceptibly shaking hands, she managed to make the ends of Rei's hair jagged, a softer look with a slightly A-line shape. An attractive contrast to her strong features.

Minako slipped her scissors and comb back into their case. "There. What do you think?"

Rei nodded her approval. "I like it."

She didn't know where it came from, but she was struck with a sudden boldness. Minako rested her hands firmly on Rei's shoulders. "Hino-san, I'll have to ask you to wait here patiently while I go . . . _prepare . . ._ for your mind-blowing massage."

Rei was surprised at the turn in tables, but recovered quickly. "Oh, rest assured Aino-san, I'm not running off anywhere. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

"I'll hold you to that." And with a sexy grin and a wink, she sashayed towards the basins, a pair of intense violet eyes fixed on the sway of her hips.

As expected, both Michiru and Haruka were waiting for her, practically pouncing on her the moment she walked round the divider that separated the salon from the basins.

"What are you doing? Don't you have customers to attend to?" Minako hissed as they pulled her safely behind the wall, out of sight from one particular customer.

They ignored her interrogation.

"Oh my God Minako-san, she's totally got the hots for you! I bet you she's a model! There's absolutely no reason for you not to bed her tonight!"

"Shut up, Haruka. And you know I don't sleep with customers."

Minako shook them off and went to the shelf of shampoo bottles.

Michiru spoke up less crudely, though she certainly had trouble keeping the laughter out of her voice with a delicate hand covering her mouth. "She _is _quite gorgeous . . ."

Minako plucked a bottle from the top and turned to glower at her co-workers. "Et tu, Michiru?" she placed a melodramatic hand to her chest. "Clearly Haruka's been rubbing off on you." She threw a dark look at the sandy-haired woman who raised her palms in the air as if to say 'Don't look at me".

Minako crossed her arms. "I swear, if the two of you weren't my most talented stylists, I'd fire you in a heartbeat."

The dirty-blonde with a mop of stylishly tousled, out-of-bed hair waved her hands frantically. "Now, now, Minako-san. We didn't mean any harm. We're just concerned for you. After all, it's been a long while since you've had a good fu-"

A towel was roughly tossed at her face, effectively muffling her words.

"Ara . . ." The aqua-haired stylist began softly, starting a little as Minako snapped her attention towards her, as if daring her to carry on what Haruka had failed to. "Ignore her, Minako-san. You know how she is always looking out for you." The stylist brushed a loose curl behind an ear.

Haruka pulled the towel off her face and gave Michiru an indignant look. "Hey, I can speak for myself you know!" She turned to Minako. "Really, you should take what I said into considera-"

And she barely had time to dodge a bottle of conditioner as it sailed towards her head.

"Can it." Minako growled as she grabbed a fresh towel and stalked out with a bottle in hand, leaving her co-workers behind, one insisting on her opinion and the other berating her for her callousness.

It was uncanny how it seemed as though the air out here was thicker than when she was at the basins. She shook herself out of it and headed towards the woman, whom – now that she had the opportunity to observe her from a distance – actually did have a model's figure, and her pricey salon chair was naught but a mere prop for what seemed like a perfect picture for a magazine cover. Minako could see it in her head: It would be glossy, with dim orange lighting, and Rei would be wearing much less, a slender finger crooked in a come-hither manner . . .

Minako clenched her teeth. _Damn it!_

Rei was typing away at her PDA when Minako walked up behind her, settling a towel over her shoulders. "I must be rather special for you to spend so much time _preparing_."

Minako flashed a wry smile. "Always the best for my customers," she replied smoothly, her eyes helplessly tracing the strong curve of the woman's jaw.

"I see," Rei flashed a flirtatiously crooked grin.

Minako bit her lip. "You ready?"

Intense violet eyes met her cerulean ones in the mirror. "As ready as I'll ever be," she drawled and put away her PDA.

Minako flipped open the bottle cover deftly, pouring out a steady stream onto the head of dark hair before her, her other hand busying itself with foaming up a rich lather. She continued till Rei's hair was gathered into a neat pile on her head, expectant and inviting. Minako closed the bottle and put it aside.

She steeled herself mentally and slid her hands into the heap of luscious hair.

Minako started by raking the pads of her fingers gently along Rei's scalp with controlled pressure. She never used her nails. No self-respecting hairstylist would, she would like to think, because nails damaged hair follicles. She then proceeded to make small circles with her thumbs at the nape of a slender neck, placing more pressure on the upward stroke to boost blood circulation.

She glanced up at Rei's reflection, noting with satisfaction that she had closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of Minako's hands on her scalp. _I'm so gonna get that recipe._

Her fingers edged upwards, splaying out to surround Rei's cranium, pressing down steadily as she made rhythmic contractions. It could have well been her imagination, but she thought that Rei's breathing had become somewhat shallow, her shoulders rising and falling increasingly as Minako continued her ministrations.

Rei's mouth parted slightly as her head involuntarily tilted backwards.

All other movement and sounds in the salon seemed to fade away into white noise as she moved into the next technique, dragging her fingers slowly, almost sensually along Rei's scalp, brushing repeatedly against the soft skin between her hairline and her ear.

A soft moan slipped from succulent lips.

Minako froze. _Oh my . . ._

She looked up into the mirror just as violet eyes shot open in shock, meeting hers for a split second before darting away in embarrassment. An equally vibrant shade of scarlet dusted their cheeks, and Minako felt a rush of molten heat gather in the pit of her stomach.

She did the only professional thing to do.

She resumed.

Minako steered clear from all sensitive regions, lips pursed tightly as her head swirled, a throbbing began between her legs. At this point, she really couldn't care less about a damned homemade hair mask.

Rei kept her eyes down, focusing on something or another on her lap. They weren't looking at her anymore and Minako found some part of her mourning the loss.

She was done after a minute, having shortened all other techniques in her nervousness and quickly wiped her hands on a spare towel. Minako motioned for Rei to follow her. "Come."

It was only when Rei stumbled while stepping out of her seat with all the grace of a pregnant orangutan that Minako realized what a loaded word she had just used.

"I-I mean uh . . . f-follow me," she rushed, smiling shakily. She hurriedly led the way to the basins, convinced she was going to lose control of her speech soon, among other things.

Minako found herself fumbling with the shower head as Rei lay in front of her, stretched out on the reclining seat, blazer gaping open to reveal a tantalizing collar bone. She mentally slapped herself. _So much for being professional._

Taking deep, calming breaths, she rinsed out the foam in Rei's hair. But even that didn't work well because before she knew it, Rei was sputtering and clawing at her shampoo covered eye.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" Minako blurted out, and as fast and gentle as she could, washed off the dollop of lather that she had so marvelously splattered onto a violet eye.

"S'okay" Rei managed waveringly and shook her head.

Once done, she turned off the faucet and wrapped up the hair in a dry towel, guiding Rei back to her seat by the crook of her elbow as her breath came in fast heaves. Everything was one gigantic blur, and she was moving based solely on routine. Her mind had effectively taken a nice, long vacation while her hormones were in the house for a gig. _How very juvenile._

She was gripping the blow-dryer a little too tightly, if her white knuckles had any say in it that is, and all her mind was doing, was replaying that breathy moan with increasing frequency and volume in her poor, muddled head. She remembered the red, parted lips, the perfectly shadowed eyelids fluttering closed, the creamy skin exposed with the titillating tilt of a head . . .

"Aino-san." A voice belonging to the owner of the throat she had been mentally ravishing snapped her out of her daze.

Her blood ran cold. Had she been caught staring? Well, she supposed that wouldn't be half as bad as compared to being caught with her eyes glazed over with desire. She barely stifled a tiny 'Eep' that threatened to bring all her years of hard work crashing down in a pile of humiliation.

"Y-yes?" Her eyes betrayed a certain degree of guilt as she saw in her own reflection and wiping the deer-caught-in-headlights look was proving to be much more of an obstacle than she had imagined it to be. She just _knew_ there would be severe consequences for not attending yoga classes regularly. She was losing control of her _facial muscles _for crying out loud!

Rei's speech was measured and unfaltering, something which Minako envied regardless of the strain she heard behind it. "I'll hold my end of the deal." A small smile licked the ends of her lips as they made eye contact.

Well now, she had broached the topic, but Minako was sure that neither of them wanted to delve into the volatile details. It was admirable though, really, and she was looking at Rei with newfound respect after that. Somehow, there was some form of closure to things and she relaxed just a little, realizing only then how stiff she had been.

Minako directed the hot air of the dryer downwards, giving Rei's hair a sleek finish before replacing the blow-dryer.

The alluring woman rose out of her seat in one fluid movement - worlds apart from minutes before - and sauntered towards the counter, trendy tote bag in hand. "I'll come by another time, have it ready for you," she said and fished around her bag for her purse.

Minako walked behind the counter, waving her hands dismissively. "It's not urgent, don't trouble yourself over it."

"I'll have it ready for you," she repeated firmly, violet eyes boring into hers, and if not for the nature of the statement, Minako would've thought it a command instead.

She nodded almost meekly as she returned Rei's credit card. "Ok."

And there was no other exchange or words, just unsteady smiles on both faces before Rei was gone with the clack of heels and an echoing tinkle of a bell.

Her legs suddenly unable to hold up her lean frame any longer, Minako collapsed into a salon chair with a groan, squeezing her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her nose tiredly. The day was still early, yet she felt utterly shot. Now, if only she could stop her head from spinning. . .

She could feel Haruka come up behind her, like a dark, ominous presence, and she didn't have to turn to know that a smug smile was probably plastered across her boyish features by now.

Minako growled.

"Cancel all my appointments for today. I'm calling a sick leave."

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	2. Knotty Tendencies

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**Posh Snippets**

_by _

_LicketySplat_

_

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**Chapter 2: Knotty Tendencies**

"What are you still doing here?! I thought I told you to _go tell the photographer_ that we'll take another five minutes tops!"

Minako was feeling particularly short-tempered today, and the fact that it was her time of the month where she was as testy as a coiled serpent and ten times more homicidal didn't help things along either.

"I'm not going anywhere when we're not done. What are you- . . . you're curling her hair?!" the red-head's voice jumped up an octave, reaching a whole new decibel that irritated the _shit _out of Minako.

Her hand holding the hot-iron twitched as the younger woman continued.

"No, this isn't how you curl hair! You need to pull it tighter! _Tighter_! Gah, you're doing it all wrong!"

The only thing that was getting tighter was her grip around the hairstyling device.

"Argh! Give that to me! You don't even look like you know what you're doing. Come on, hand it over!"

"Wha- . . .?!"

_How dare her!_

And the hot-iron was snatched from her hand before she could crank the heat up and clip them over those unsightly chattering lips.

Minako's mouth drew into a thin line, her blood boiling, but she refused to butt heads with an ill-bred amateur. She had wasted the past ten minutes of her scheduled time quarreling over what bloody _brand _of hair mousse to use and she definitely wasn't about to start on how to do curls. She ran a salon for goodness sakes!

_Never argue with a fool, _she scowled, _because people may not be able to tell the difference._

Something rational in her told her to back away with her dignity still intact, though her pride had taken quite a dent. So she stood to the side and folded her arms, furious and in desperate need of a steaming cup of Starbucks just as her head started pounding. Minako hated it. She absolutely hated disrespect. Did that woman even know who Minako was and just how high she stood on the ladder in her miserable existence? Well of course she did, how could she not? And knowing that just launched her anger onto a whole new level of potential murder – First-degree homicide. Premeditated.

Fuming, she watched as the amateur hairstylist, clearly a few years her junior, fluttered about the distressed January Cover Girl of Tweens on the high stool, hot-iron seemingly bent on singing off her eyebrows. The striking model looked to Minako with desperate eyes, pleading for her to do something, _anything_! She merely shrugged her shoulders and offered an apologetic, almost sympathetic smile which twitched at a corner as she struggled to keep her fury in check. _If they could airbrush on a navel, I'm sure they'd be able to do the same for a couple of eyebrows . . ._

On the bright side, she was getting paid for being here, and if anything went awry, she had the model as a first-hand witness (if not an unfortunate victim of incompetence).

In any case, the onus was on her to inform the photographer of the hairstylist's inexperience, especially since it was a cover shoot. She didn't know how or why they hired the bumbling red-head in the first place because it was painfully obvious that this was her first time on set. Minako barely repressed a disgusted shudder at the way the red-head – what was her name? Ah yes, _Beryl_ – was raking her clawed hands into the model's gorgeous caramel mane. She'd be amazed if clumps of the model's hair didn't fall off from all the yanking and excessive hair products the maladroit moron was heaping on her head.

Beryl was done, eventually, and Minako placed a comforting hand on the model's shoulder as the red-head strutted off to announce that Cover Girl was ready. "I must apologise if it seemed as though I was the by-stander equivalent of her accomplice, but there wasn't much that I could do," Minako gave a guilty smile and tried to tame the explosive riot that now sat on the cover girl's head.

The model shook her head. "It's fine Aino-san. I understand. Though I must say you did a laudable effort in maintaining control of the hot-iron," she grinned teasingly, recovering quickly from the shock of her own reflection in the mirror.

Minako gave up on the frazzled mound of hair and stepped back. "Well I don't see myself as a hairstylist in jail," she chuckled and leaned on the dressing table. "Although a hot-iron would make quite an interesting murder weapon." She picked up the abandoned hair-styling device and gave it a few menacing clicks in the air.

"Quite," Cover Girl laughed and agreed. She looked at her reflection once again, raising a hand to her hair and scrunching up her face in abhorrence. "I look like I belong on the cover page of October than for January."

"It's a good idea to start the New Year with a big bang . . ."

"Oh haha. Very droll."

"Alright, I suppose I do feel rather responsible for this mess. They didn't call me here to observe nuclear test results after all," Minako gestured towards the bomb site, which currently had a blast radius of a little more than a foot. She grabbed a spray bottle from the table and stood in front of the model, doing minimal damage control.

"You could always accompany me to the Countdown Party, if that'll help your conscience," Cover Girl suggested and gave Minako a wink. "It'll be a _blast_."

Minako groaned, throwing her arms in the air. "Ok, ok, enough with the puns already!" she laughed out loud before looking at the model thoughtfully. She had already been invited, the invitation having come a month ago already, and she hadn't given it much thought since then because there wasn't need to. These things hardly differed from their predecessors as with the hair styling appointments she always got a month in advance prior to a party and the dates with men she went along with just for the heck of it.

Minako looked briefly at the pretty model, taking in her large doe-eyes and sweet features. January Cover Girl had certainly taken her by surprise with her forwardness.

"Well, I've got appointments back to back on that day because of that menace. But alright, if I may redeem myself, I'll go with you" she nodded, impish grin on her face. "For now, I need to rat on that insolent brat, so if you'll excuse me . . ."

As she turned to pack her things into her equipment case, a hand darted out to catch her wrist, halting her in her steps. "So it's a date then. Eight at the front porch of Chiba's mansion?" the model cocked her head to the side in question, eyes sparkling in anticipation. Too eager, in Minako's opinion, but she decided to overlook the tiny hitch.

"Yeah, eight's fine."

"Can't wait. I'll see you then!"

And Cover Girl was called to the set just as Minako slid the last bottle of hair spray into her case.

She headed out of the dressing room, shaking her head all the while. She was completely out of it today, if the fact that she couldn't remember Cover Girl's name even after making a date with her didn't make it evident enough. But it happens, she supposed, because there were simply too many people in this industry, and in all honesty, if someone weren't useful in her network, they would be just another pretty face in the overly massive pretty crowd. Harsh, yet unfortunately clinical.

As she stepped out of the dressing room, Minako almost collided head-on with a scurrying make-up artist, and chances were, if that had actually occurred, she probably wouldn't have realized till she was laying spread eagled on the floor, equipment case on top of her face.

That was it. She was getting a tall latte with a shot of espresso at the first Starbucks she saw. The thumping music emanating from behind the studio doors as she approached only compounded her agony.

She pushed the thick door open and was immediately greeted by the loud pounding of heavy beats that pulsed through her with seismic forcefulness and rattled her bones. For a moment, she was convinced that she had unwittingly opened the Pandora's Box of all headaches, but she strode on in anyway, senses tolerating the assault but not quite adapting to it either.

A commanding voice, entirely female and pissed, seemed to split through the wall of noise with whip-cracking intensity. A rather miraculous feat, Minako thought.

"I need more emotion in the eyes! No, not like that. That's bitchy and stiff. Angle your head more to the left . . . I need a dramatic pose– there! Hold it!"

And amidst the flashes and glare from the gigantic floodlights, she made out the shape of the photographer, crouched on one knee with a Nikon in both hands at the front of the set, back facing her.

Cover Girl was on set, perched on a vintage chair of sorts, limbs extended in an aggressive manner but not quite what the photographer was looking for as hinted by a sharp shake of a head and wide gesturing. The model was quite pretty, Minako thought, although she wasn't exactly her type. _Too_ _delicate_. But she was someone Minako wouldn't mind as a date to the largest countdown party in the area, hosted by Chiba Mamoru, the editor-in-chief of Tweens himself.

Minako idly played with a strand of blonde hair that had escaped her ponytail, sighing as she watched the photo shoot.

She would have to wait till after a roll of film, she knew, because the photographer and imaging artists would need to discuss and pick out the few good frames before proceeding with the shoot. Minako put her case down silently and leaned on a stack of crates, tucking her hands into the pockets of her cargos.

The voice boomed again, sounding loud and somewhat familiar above the chaotic dissonance. Minako frowned and straightened up instantly, her gut suddenly feeling strangely twisted as her eyes traced the outline of the female photographer, making out a head of raven-hair . . .

"No, I've told you before. You can't smile with your mouth, short of looking like a freak show with that hair! You need to give it to me with the eyes! I want it intense! Dramatic! Yes, that's it!"

And within the span of time that one took to snap a shot, she was behind the stack of crates she was leaning on previously, case gripped in clammy palms and her eyes wide with shock. Apparently, her body was fast enough to react but her mind was not quite fast enough to digest the visual information her eyes took in. So she hid in the shadows of the crates – for reasons which her cluttered head had yet to comprehend – and stared, openly, blatantly, shamelessly at Rei, hoping that somehow she would be able to find an answer as to why she was hyperventilating_._

_Oh . . . my . . . God!_

She sunk to a crouch, as though mimicking the photographer, as her mind raced. Now she knew where had seen her name before! It was either being inconspicuous at the tiny corner of a glamour photo, or completely glanced over and forgotten on the staff page of Tweens. After all, photographers were barely mentioned where the famous faces of Japan's top models and stars were concerned, in the public eye at least, and more often than not, putting faces to said photographers hardly interested anyone. They barely appeared in the limelight, only their subjects did.

_But how could anyone not want to know this gorgeous face behind thousands of photos?! This is completely ironic._

Someone else could go kick up a fuss about Beryl, because she sure as hell wasn't going to waltz over with the knowledge that her mouth wouldn't be able to form proper, coherent words. And why on earth was she even _hiding?!_

It had been roughly two weeks since that day that Rei swept into her salon with the impact of a hurricane and all the grace of a breeze. Minako hadn't seen her since then, but with the way she was spying on Rei now, clearly she had yet to wipe the memories of that day from her head. She had begun to think that Rei wasn't going to turn up, hair mask recipe in hand. But then again, loathe as she was to admit it, she wasn't as keen on receiving a slip of paper as to be graced with the photographer's presence again. Even her stylists knew that, no thanks to her occasional fumble and spacing out. The teasing had lasted throughout the weeks whenever she dropped into the salon, relentless and unyielding till she had to threaten them with a can of hair spray and a lighter.

"You're looking like a mannequin. I need you to loosen up! Bend that elbow a bit. Give me a face-on . . . – Hold it! Just a few more . . . There! That's a wrap for now!"

Minako stiffened, and shrunk back into the shadows as Rei rose to take a look at the shots in the array of monitors on a table to the side. _It should be a crime to look that good in only a shirt and jeans._

From where she was and with the music, she only heard snippets of the conversation between the chiseled image artist and the photographer.

" . . . this is no good, Yukito. See how her arm disappears at this angle? I can't have her looking like an amputee! And what's with the afro?! . . ."

She figured they would find out about Beryl eventually and deciding that this would be a terrible time to interrupt either way, Minako stood up as silently as possible, cringing when her case banged noisily into the crates. For once she was thankful for the outrageously loud music. As much as she would like to continue staring, admiring the proud posture and attractively professional air the photographer exuded, she really should be going. Besides, Rei looked really pissed, and Minako did not want to be in the range of her flaring aura. She snuck stealthily towards the door, casting quick glances over her shoulder and a last look at the fashion photographer of Tweens and slipped out unnoticed, her head still reeling from the discovery.

In the suddenly stifling quiet of the car park, her headache seemed to increase tenfold without the accompanying pounding of the music in the studio. Minako all but fell into the car seat with a groan. Resting her forehead on the steering wheel of her Mini Cooper, she found that she was failing horribly at erasing Rei's perfect profile from her mind.

She screwed her eyes shut.

_Forget Starbucks. Vodka will do so much better._

* * *

--

* * *

"Good afternoon, this is Venus Vogue, Tenoh Haruka speaking. How may I help you?"

"_Good afternoon. Is Aino-san in today?"_

"She will be from five onwards. May I know who's on the line?"

"_Hino Rei."_

"A-ah . . . it's nice to hear from you again Hino-san, would you be making an appointment with us today?"

"_Yes. With Aino-san, for six in the evening. I trust she's available then?"_

"Hold on, let me check her schedule . . . six o' clock . . . _(damn she's booked)_ Er, yes she's free."

" _. . . Wonderful. Do let her know I'll be dropping by to fulfill my end of the deal."_

"I will- wait . . . deal? What deal?"

"_Ah, this is between her and I, Tenoh-san. But what I can say is that she has very skillful fingers."_

"Fing- . . . ok, do I want to know?"

"_Perhaps. Perhaps not. It all depends on how open she is with you. You should ask her yourself."_

"Oh, now I see what this is all about. She should be glad that she took my advice then."

"_. . . what advice?"_

"Never mind. As part of my job, I have to respect the privacy of patrons. For Aino-san however . . . that's an entirely different thing altogether. She rarely keeps the beans on her Sapphic affairs and-"

"_She swings that way?"_

"Yep. Wait . . . I thought you knew that alrea- . . . Oops."

"_Interesting."_

"I-In any case, we'll see you at six then. Drive safely! Obey the lights! The roads are very slick now, I almost skidded off a bend just this morning, but what can I say, I love the speed and I've always thought it an over exaggerated cliché but you have no idea how my life flashed past my eyes and-"

"_Tenoh-san."_

"Yes?"

_You're rambling."_

"Sorry."

"_Don't worry about it."_

"A-Aino-san will be ready for you-"

"_Oh she'd better be."_

"Eh heh heh . . . Hino-san you sound really predatory now."

"_You're hearing things."_

"I suppose so. Well, have a good day Hino-san."

"_Same to you too."_

* * *

--

* * *

"Haruka, what are you doing?"

The woman with an unruly mop of dirty blonde hair looked up at her lover innocently. "What does it look like I'm doing?" she smirked, placing the phone back in its holder and tidying up the counter.

"You just cancelled Minako-san's appointment for six," Michiru folded her arms, narrowing her deep blue eyes at her partner. "Why?"

"No I didn't. She _does_ have an appointment for six, a more important one if I may add."

"You will tell her, at least?"

"Nuh uh. Not a chance," Haruka shook her head firmly. She grinned mischievously, teal eyes sparkling as she strode past the frowning stylist for the back room. "I'm gonna go get my video cam ready. Oooh . . . the countdown begins! Five hours to _dramaaaa_!" The tall blonde spread her arms and threw her head back, cackling evilly.

"Haruka."

The bed-headed blonde paused mid-step and swiveled her head to the side at the soft yet arresting voice that addressed her from behind a customer.

"I trust you know what you're doing," Setsuna looked up at her in the mirror, garnet eyes fixed steadily on her as hands effortlessly snipped and cut without interruption. "Although it would seem terribly asinine of me to even talk about trust around you . . ."

"Tsk. Have more faith in me," Haruka smiled confidently, hands on her hips. "And of course I know what I'm doing. Just sit back and enjoy part two of the show you missed the other day, which was a shame, really." She darted into the back room and returned with the broom, sweeping in large, excited arcs. "You should've seen Minako-san! Sputtering and fumbling like a pubescent school girl! Not to mention the characteristically angsty hissy fits afterwards."

"So what you're doing is very post-puberty then?"

Haruka scowled. "Oh you're such a killjoy, Setsuna."

The tanned woman tilted her head to the side, as though amused though her face betrayed none of that emotion. "I don't want to be the unfortunate civilian caught in the middle of your puerile shenanigans and Minako-san's hidden talent for pyrotechnics."

"Come now, you don't think she'd torch her own salon do you? They're all empty threats I tell you!"

Just then, the front door burst open and a haggard Minako stepped in, a frigid gust of wind heralding her arrival and jangling the bell violently.

"Speak of the devil . . ."

* * *

--

* * *

There was a pregnant silence as the employees waited in bewilderment as Minako stood dazedly to her spot, seemingly adjusting to the sudden warmth or realizing only then that she was back at the salon. With a grunt, Minako trudged on into the salon, heading straight for the seat tucked behind the counter.

"Good afternoon Aino-san!" the stylists chorused.

"Rnnhh . . . afternoon."

"Minako-san, how was the photo shoot?" She vaguely registered the question directed towards her from one of her employees but deflected it, unwilling to dwell on the incidents of the previous few hours. Minako sunk into the chair as Michiru started towards her.

She hadn't been able to grab even a cup of cheap coffee from a vending machine considering the killer traffic and the appointment she had in a scant fifteen minutes. The day couldn't get any worse, really. There was stock-taking to be done, auditing awaiting her . . . and she was hungry.

Where her co-workers had expected the usual lowdown on a magazine shoot came something utterly random and off tangent.

"I'm hungry. Where's my lunch?" _Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum . . ._

Michiru, who had stepped up behind Minako to loosen up stiff muscles with a massage, raised a brow. "We haven't had lunch yet. But someone could go get it now . . ." the aqua-haired stylist informed her, kneading knuckles into tense muscles as Minako flipped through her appointment schedule.

Minako snapped her head up, spotting the lanky blonde sneaking towards the backroom. "Haruka! Go get our lunch!" she barked, startling the hair stylist.

Upon the order, Haruka spun around looking sullen, broom in hand. "Me? I bought lunch yesterday already!"

"So go get it again today then," Minako shrugged and relaxed as the knots on her back loosened steadily. "Thank you Michiru," she glanced up gratefully at the aqua-haired stylist before turning her attention back to the unhappy blonde.

Haruka raked a hand through her dirty blonde tousles and pulled a long face, crossing her arms. "Why can't Michiru go get it? She's free."

Minako gestured in frustration at the aqua-haired stylist behind her, her patience wearing thin. "Michiru is attending to my poor, afflicted being. You, however, are the one who's tangoing with a broom."

"Well, Setsuna hasn't gotten us lunch in a while now. Tell her to go. I need to sweep up the floor."

The addressed stylist merely rolled her garnet eyes, pausing momentarily with her scissors poised in the air and motioned to the customer in front of her, a silent _'Duh'. _With her emerald tresses pulled into a French braid, the stoic stylist looked every bit as professional as Minako would wish Haruka would be, that and the fact that she was polished and smart in contrast to the boyish blonde's brashness. But ah, Haruka brought a certain level of cheer to the salon that Minako liked on days where it wasn't inappropriate - today definitely not being one of them.

Minako pinned Haruka with a particularly scalding death glare. "Setsuna has a customer. And why are we even having this conversation? Go get lunch. I. Am. Hungry," she drew out the last few words, as though speaking to a three-year old.

"A hungry woman is an angry woman," Michiru chirped helpfully, smirking as Haruka threw her a mock wounded look.

The blonde marched to the door haughtily, grudgingly, and tossed her aqua-haired lover a dirty look. "Boot-licker."

"Slacker," she sang, affectionate smile on her face instead of the expected annoyance.

Haruka batted her lashes at her. "You know you love it."

"Aw shut up already! Go! Shoo! I've got an appointment in ten damn it!" Minako growled. "And I want Subway!" she hollered after the blonde just as the door slid closed. Minako tilted her head to speak to Michiru. "Seriously, you guys are so sickeningly sweet it makes me nauseous," she shuddered for good measure.

The stylist behind her only laughed and finished off the massage with a meaningful pat on the shoulders. "Hopefully that hasn't undone all my efforts then. This'll have to tide you over till six."

Minako looked up at her quizzically. "Six? Why?" she asked and looked at her watch, brows furrowed. It took her a few seconds before the words sunk in and she flipped open her appointment schedule again, scanning the entries till she reached six o' clock.

'Appointment' it read, with large, obnoxious exclamation marks trailing behind the sole word. Clearly Haruka had taken this down. Usually the name of the client would be written, but whatever name that had been written before had been slashed out in bold streaks of black pen ink. She was just about to question Michiru when a customer entered.

The poised stylist walked briskly to tend to him, looking back over her shoulder to see the confused expression all over Minako's face.

She smiled gently, offering her sympathy with no further explanation whatsoever.

"I get the feeling you'll need another one after that."

* * *

**AN:** Hello dear readers. I do love dramatic irony, don't you? Right, so...manymany things I'd want to say. Let's start off with how much I appreciate your reviews and feedback. :) I had initially planned this chapter to be longer...but my bestie insisted it was too long. I seem to have issues with writing chapters which turn out much longer than I want them to. And also, I thought I'd point out that this story, will mostly be written around fluff, drama, humour and future...R rated stuff. I haven't written much on the other scouts before, but hopefully I haven't made any of them OOC. I don't know about you, but I love how Haruka has the ability to whip up chaos when she wants to. I did start off this fandom with the Haruka/Michiru pairing after all. Oh yes, another thing. I do not cut hair, nor am I anywhere near the fashion industry. I'm still a poor student, prepping for her last year of pre-college studies with no experience whatsoever with modelling and such. But what I can say, however, is that I follow ANTM closely. XD So...do give me feedback, because I think this story is gonna spill out more chapters than I thought I'd write. As usual. Blah.


	3. Taming The Frizz

* * *

**Posh Snippets**

_by_

_LicketySplat_

* * *

**Chapter 3: Taming The Frizz**

"Will that be all Chiba-san?"

Pen and notepad in hand, Makoto smiled warmly at the well-groomed man.

Chiba Mamoru returned the gesture. "Yes. Oh, we'll have the dessert five minutes after the last dish."

"Of course, Sir. I'll be back with your orders as soon as possible."

Bowing to both the handsome man and his stunning companion, Makoto turned and headed for the kitchen, posture confident and gait measured while on the inside, her nerves were in a tight, jittery bunch. It wasn't every day that she waited at tables, being the owner of the most popular French cuisine restaurant in the district. Then again, it wasn't every day that the Editor-in-Chief of Tweens himself waltzed in through the door of her establishment with a lady on his arm, completely bypassing the snaking queue and acquiring an exclusive table for two on the verandah.

She wove between tables expertly, pausing briefly only to tap a waiter on the shoulder for his attention. "Bring a bottle of Bordeaux '87 to Chiba-san's table on the verandah. Tell them it's on the house," she muttered under the bustle of lunch crowd, and she strode on purposefully, a woman on a mission. Past the bar she went, the bartender giving her an encouraging smile as she stopped in front of the kitchen doors. Makoto took a deep breath and pushed them open, stepping through into a keen silence that permeated and shimmered above the heat of the humming stoves.

She stared at the tens of pairs of eyes that had obviously been awaiting her arrival, eager and waiting on bated breath for what seemed like precious pearls or jewels to tumble out her mouth.

And tumble they did as she read out from her notepad in a sharp tone, "Two serves of onion soup- Senna, take them out immediately once you're done . . . One Truffle Ravioli with extra premium white truffle – Kanade-san, this is yours." There was a flare of heat as the chef started a stove nearby, pan in hand.

She continued, gaze landing on her Head Chef. "Jiro-san, one Blanquette de veau with Linguini pasta on the side, hold the celeries." The pots and pans started clanging.

"And I want two Lemon Meringue tarts to be out exactly five minutes after their plates are cleared. The rest of you, don't just stand around! Return to your previous orders! We've got customers waiting! Come on! Chop chop!" Makoto shouted over the din of the kitchen, surveying the chefs scrambling around each other to return to their places. Satisfied that the ball was rolling, she turned around to peek out the tiny window of the kitchen door, observing Chiba Mamoru and his dark-haired companion.

"Kino-san, you think that's his wife?"

Startled, she spun around and glared at a grinning Chef Jiro, as if demanding to know why he was looking past her shoulders instead of concentrating on getting the food done. As if in answer, he looked to the microwave oven where the veal was being warmed up.

"I have no idea," she said plainly and tucked a mahogany curl behind her ear.

A waiter rearranging the plates glanced over. "No Chef, she's not. The last I heard, his wife was blonde. And I refilled their glasses just now . . . they're talking business," he added as he grabbed a couple of orders, balancing them on one arm and swept out of the kitchen.

"Damn, not a mistress then," Chef Kanade chuckled from the other stove, whisking away in a mixing bowl for the perfect thickness of the cream sauce. "Where's the scandal when you want one? And she's a hot one too . . ."

Makoto swatted at his arm. "Don't talk like that about the customers!" she hissed and turned back to look out the window, fingers clicking her pen listlessly.

"Must be a business lunch," Makoto murmured to herself and eyed the couple at the table. From the limited view that she had through the circular window, she saw the cordial smile on the face of the editor-in-chief disappear, replaced by a deep frown at something his female companion must have said.

Before she could even stop to wonder who the woman was exactly, the waiter from before bustled back into the kitchen, dirty plates in hand. "She's the photographer," he told Makoto as he cleared the leftovers. At her raised brow he shrugged, "Thought you would like to know."

Makoto was about to reprimand him for eavesdropping into customer conversations when Chef Kanade called out, "Kino-san, order's ready!"

Makoto snagged a tray from the shelf and placed the steaming plates on it, sprinkling a dash of dried parsley over as a garnish. She glanced warningly at the chefs. "I will not have my kitchen turn into a gossip den. Got that?" Not waiting for their answers, she stepped back out into the lunch time chaos.

She had been told that people in the fashion industry were particularly apt at the art of persuasion and she highly doubted that Chiba Mamoru was any exception. The man, however, was looking somewhat resigned when she neared. A failed attempt? Was that even possible coming from the Chief Editor of Tweens? "Three more years . . ." he was saying in hushed tones, "You won't change your mind-?"

Makoto stepped up, metal tray balanced smartly over her shoulder. "Sorry to interrupt," she winced apologetically.

The woman looked up with striking violet eyes and gave her a polite smile. "It's no problem," she assured, and Makoto had trouble believing what the waiter had said about the woman being a photographer. She had such fine aristocratic features that any magazine would die for to have on their cover page.

"The Truffle Ravioli . . . and the Blanquette de veau." There seemed to be an air of barely-there tension, as though the pair were trying hard to conceal that this business lunch was less than ideal. They kept silent as she placed their orders on the table and Makoto had the feeling that whatever it was the young woman had said, it wasn't what Chiba Mamoru had expected or had wanted to hear. He was drumming his fingers on the table, expression troubled.

She refilled their wine glasses and stepped back, bowing, "Enjoy your meal!"

"Thank you," Chiba Mamoru said distractedly before sitting up straighter, as if remembering something. "Ah wait, Kino-san, you wouldn't happen to do caterings would you?"

"We do, Chiba-san," Makoto answered with a nod of her head, curious as to where this was going.

"It's rather last minute, but . . . hmmm . . . let's discuss this after our meal shall we?" the man adjusted his suit and picked up his fork. "I'm quite hungry and this all smells very delicious! Give my regards to the chef," he grinned cheekily at her and she found herself blushing. He held up his wine glass. "Thank you for the bottle of wine as well."

"Don't mention it Chiba-san." With another bow, Makoto turned and almost tripped on the foot of a nearby waiter in her haste to leave the strange tension and Mamoru's charm behind.

Her face only grew warmer.

* * *

--

* * *

"I- . . . No. Hinata-san, I'm terribly sorry but I cannot forgo this appointment for you. I know it's an emergency but- . . . No, it doesn't matter even if you triple the price," Minako buried a hand into her own hair, close to ripping a chunk of it out in exasperation as she held the phone in a vice grip. She glanced at her watch and shifted in her seat. "With all due respect Hinata-san, it's a minute to six now, this is literally a last minute request, it's unfair to the client who booked me for six if I called the appointment off now- . . . I see. Yes I understa- . . . Look, why don't I send one of my stylists to your place? I assure you they are very reliable and-"

Minako covered her face with a hand, gritting her teeth so tightly that her jaw hurt. This was why clients, women especially, booked her months in advance for a gala event. No one pulled stunts like this on the day itself. No – _freaking _– body. And that was not even taking into consideration that said person was screeching into her ear as if it was her bloody fault for not divining, not looking into her non-existent crystal ball and predicting that she would require _her _to do her hair and therefore have a slot free from six onwards. Oh, now she's threatening to sue.

The doorbell tinkled and cold air swept into the salon.

A shadow loomed over the counter as a customer stepped up.

"No. This is final Hinata-san. I cannot-"

Minako looked up casually and whatever she had wanted to say into the phone was lost among limpid pools of hooded violet.

Her eyes widened.

She was vaguely aware of the phone dangling limply between her fingers before she completely lost control of them, dropping the receiver onto the holder with a clatter, cutting off a shrill sentence just as it began.

Hinata-san could sue her upside down for all she was worth. She really didn't care anymore.

Minko shot up from her seat, the only sign that her muscles were still in her control. More or less.

"Hello." A mellow voice greeted.

"H-Hino-san . . . Hi," she croaked lamely, her throat feeling parched all of a sudden. Her fingers found a pen to fiddle with as her mind conveniently went blank.

The photographer flashed an achingly beautiful smile and at this distance, Minako made out the faint depression of a cute dimple to the left of Rei's lips. It took her a while before she realized there was something in the ebony-haired woman's outstretched hand.

"I believe I owe you this."

Her reactions lagged, and it took her all of five seconds before she reached out to take the offered slip of paper, fingers brushing Rei's with the slightest of contacts. Minako's breath hitched in her throat.

"I would have dropped by earlier, but I've been busy," Rei continued unruffled, though she withdrew her hand quickly, closing her fingers in a loose fist that she tucked into the side pocket of her grey knitted coat. Something in the back of Minako's mind picked out that Rei had answered to an unvoiced question, offering an explanation without being asked one. Was she as nervous as she was? Minako couldn't be sure, but it gave her some comfort at the least. Then again, she could just be over-thinking things. She took deep, calming breaths.

"You know, I was beginning to think you weren't going to turn up at all," Minako teased, covering up for her nervousness.

"Missed me already?" Rei cocked her head to the side, bemused.

Minako rolled her eyes. "You regard yourself really highly don't you?"

"Not quite true . . . I only say things as I see them," Rei said cryptically, and Minako wondered in brief panic if she was as easy to read as an open children's book in large print. She had never really been any good with concealing her thoughts. Rei locked gazes steadily with her and continued seriously, "But in all honesty though, I never go back on my words."

Minako nodded attentively. "Duly noted!" she chirped, grinning widely at the photographer who looked somewhat pleasantly surprised at her cheer. She, herself, didn't know where it came from either. Or rather, she preferred not to trace its origins. "So . . . let's see what we have here . . ." she unfolded the paper she had been handed, eyes scanning through the list of ingredients and preparation methods, the neat, penciled script standing out more than the recipe itself. She read off the list. "Banana, avocado, honey, peppermint . . . looks good enough to eat. Are you sure you didn't accidentally give me the recipe for a dessert instead?" she glanced up at the woman in front of her, a playful smile on her face.

Rei chuckled and readjusted the shoulder strap of her camera case tiredly. "You have mayonnaise as part of your dessert?" the photographer asked, pointing to the bottom of the list.

"Ew . . . no!" Minako made a face and Rei let out a laugh, eyes sparkling with mirth though looking slightly dull.

_She must've come down after work,_ Minako thought, noting the mild slump in Rei's posture and the exhaustion on her face. Well at least she knew now that she wasn't the only one having a bad day.

She slipped the recipe into the back pocket of her jeans, smiling lightly at the photographer. "Anyway, thanks for this. I'll be sure to try it out."

Rei's eyes twinkled and she leaned forwards onto the counter, pearly whites showing as she said softly, devoid of any form of seduction whatsoever, "Do let me know how you find it." But Minako found herself flushing nonetheless.

Minako chewed on her lower lip, somehow managing a smile that matched the photographer's. "I will."

It was all she could do to prevent herself from grabbing the lapels of Rei's coat and hauling over the counter to kiss her senseless.

_She is soooo on the wrong side of the camera lens I tell you. _

They stared at each other, the corners of their lips turned up gently as the silence seeped in, stifling and oppressive, draping over them like a blanket. Her heart pounded almost painfully in her chest.

Rei was looking at her expectantly, if a little nonplussed, and Minako's brows creased together, confused.

She should say something. "Ah . . . well I shouldn't hold you back. You must have places to go to. People to see! Things to do! . . . or something," she suggested in a rush, forcing the words out as her insides squirmed in conflict, a part of her wanting Rei to leave with the torpid haze that had descended onto her with her presence, and a part of her aching to tell her to stay, chat, trim her hair, have another scalp massage . . .

Rei only frowned, confusion etching its way onto her face. "I'm here to see you."

Minako almost fell back into the chair in sweet, sweet surprise. A goofy grin was worming its way out, she could feel it, but it retreated quickly back into hiding, probably never to appear for eons to come when Rei added, "For my appointment . . . at six," she elaborated. "Since I figured that having you do my hair the other time was by a stroke of luck, I thought I'd make an appointment this time."

And it was like the happy, sappy music floating from a stereotypical gramophone screeched to a cruelly stereotypical stop, crickets chirruping away in the background.

Minako struggled to rearrange the emotions that must be flitting across her face by now, failing between looking spastic and constipated before a simmering rage took over at the realization of being set up. She shoved it down, smiling stiffly. "R-Right. So sorry about that. Here, let me take your coat," she stepped round the counter and went behind a baffled Rei, holding the shoulders of the stylish woolen coat by the barest tips of her fingers, afraid to make any further contact with the photographer. The ends of dark hair brushed her hands. "Take a seat," she motioned instinctively to the array of chairs. "I'll just go hang this up."

As she made her way to the coat closet by the door, she spotted Haruka glancing at her shiftily as she trimmed a customer's hair. Minako grabbed a hanger from the closet and pointed it at the boyish blonde with all the irrepressible rage wrought on her by her time of the month, mouthing: _YOU DIE._

The stylist had the shame, at least, to look fearful, which was the only reason why Minako hadn't flung the hanger across the salon like a lethal boomerang.

_The nerve! _Minako scowled as she shut the closet door and stalked towards the blonde, barely restraining herself from slapping her upside the head as she pulled the lanky woman aside by the elbow, customer or not, and hissed venomously into her ear, "You and me are going to have a nice long chat after this, and if you even _think _about leaving before I'm done, you'll find that the tyres of your cute little Porsche are _conveniently slashed_." She sliced a hand through the air to prove her point.

"I wasn't thinking-"

"_Damn right_ you weren't thinking!" Minako cut her off, her scowl only letting up a little at the curious glance she got from Setsuna across the salon. She didn't like the way the usually unconcerned stylist seemed to be laughing with her ruby eyes and her scowl returned full force. "What the hell were you trying to achieve huh? Pulling a stunt like this!"

Haruka raised her hands as if in preparation to defend herself in the event that her boss were to pounce on her, teeth and claws flashing with the promise of a quick and sure death. And it was with half a brain that she went on, "Minako-san, you've been moping all over the salon floor when you think we weren't looking, don't tell me you aren't happy to see her-"

"_Shhh!" _The force behind the hiss would have been enough to make her stagger back a few steps. Minako tossed a quick glance over her shoulder, a relieved expression on her face as she ensured that Rei hadn't heard anything. "For goodness sakes Haruka, you know that your voice carries like an airborne toxic event! Must you say these things so loudly?!"

The bed-headed blonde shrugged her shoulders. "Sorry," she offered, sincerity sorely lacking in her apology.

"_Ugh!_ What am I going to do with you? And I'm not done with you yet, Tenoh Haruka! Speaking strictly on logistics here, you know better than to cancel my appointments without informing me, much less replace them."

Haruka sighed and ran a hand through bed-ragged hair. "So you're telling me that you wouldn't have called in sick again if I had taken down _her _name?"

"I- . . .You . . ." Minako trailed off, mouth opened and pointer finger raised to riposte her statement just as her brain told her, much grudgingly, that the sandy-haired woman before her had a point. _Damn it._

"There we go," the devil incarnate said confidently, a proud smile on her boyish face. "You'll be thanking me later, Minako-san. And I think it's best not to keep the lady waiting. She's starting to get suspicious." With a wink and a pompous smirk, Haruka strode back to her customer and left Minako as she was - cursing to herself fiercely.

Minako spun around and headed for Rei, telling herself that come hell or high water, there _will_ be a showdown later between her and that scheming turd. No holds barred. Scissors at the ready.

"Something the matter?" Rei questioned at Minako's dark face, sliding her camera case and tote underneath the hydraulic chair.

Minako turned and shot Haruka another glare that promised oodles of death and destruction and the fiery infernos of hell. "Communication breakdown," she stated simply, heatedly.

"I see." Rei looked amused and quietly gazed at her, a strange glint in her violet orbs. "It happens."

Minako sighed and went about the usual rote of placing a salon's plastic sheet around shoulders and making a quick grab for her equipment. She stood behind the dark-haired woman as the photographer plucked some lint off a brown knit vest that clung to her white button down shirt like a second skin. Minako spoke up quickly to prevent herself from staring. "So then, tell me what you want Hino-san." Hands braced on the back of the seat, she leant forward casually, awaiting an answer, a force of habit before realizing that her chest was about to press into the fashion photographer's dark mane. She jerked back instantly.

Rei smiled coyly. "Oh, many, _many_ things Aino-san," she murmured, eyes half-lidded as she regarded the hairstylist with a decidedly predatory gaze. "To the point where I sometimes dance around the line between ambition and being _completely_ utopian," she propped her chin on an open palm, an adorable pensiveness in her words as she eyed the fidgeting blonde, smiling wryly. "But, if we're talking about what you can give to me . . . then I suppose I want a change."

"What kind of change?" Minako inquired hesitantly, tilting her head to the side in surprise. She had had many customers who had requested for makeovers before, but they were all regulars who knew her well enough to trust her. Was Rei taking a risk? Or was she going through some sort of mid-life crisis? Minako suddenly had the image of a past customer, sitting distraught in a chair, mascara smeared and trekked on her face as she sobbed for the hairstylist to chop it all off. _Nah_.

Maybe Rei simply had such faith in Minako? That thought alone seemed to drop an unshakable pressure on her shoulders.

Rei played with the ends of her hair. "I already got a trim a few weeks back, but I was thinking along the lines of highlights. What do you think?"

Grabbing a hold of the back of the seat, Minako gently turned the chair around to face Rei. Bending forward a little, she scrutinized Rei's skin tone and hair texture up close, having much trouble picturing her with _any _shade or colour, let alone several for a perfect highlight. Her eyes drew away from raven strands soon enough, only to follow the strong line of a sharp nose down to smirking, full lips. She was supposed to be giving an overall assessment of Rei's hair, but at this distance – a breath-stealing foot away from the woman's face – and with the way her heart was pounding, it seemed safe to assume that she wanted to give an overall assessment _and _a hands on.

"Need a closer look?" The photographer murmured coquettishly.

_Oh gods . . . here we go again._

She was tempted, oh so tempted to do just that - surrender to those shuttered eyes and puckered lips . . .

If it was any consolation, at least she refrained from acceding to that invitation. Minako stood up straight and offered a shaky smile. "Ah . . . t-that won't be necessary. Just . . . _sit back _and relax_._"

Rei's expression remained as it was – passive, unsurprised, but so very sexy.

"So then . . . highlights?" the photographer questioned again.

Minako reverted back into her professional stance, albeit with some difficulty. She squinted down at black hair and confirmed her previous observations. She shook her head. "No," she said finally and to Rei's raised brows she explained, "Highlights, as the name implies, adds depth and dimension to hair. It emphasizes a cut. While I can safely do the common browns for you, it won't bring out the focus of your layered style, your hair being of such a lovely full-toned black. Your natural hair colour would look like it's swallowing up the highlights instead. Do you get what I mean?"

The photographer's brows drew together lightly. "Hmm . . . I think so. But what about reds then?"

"Nope. Too harsh on your features. What would work beautifully for you, however, would be purple or pink highlights. But that's just so Harajuku now isn't it?" Minako laughed at Rei's horrified face, the idea of resembling a cosplayer obviously not sitting tight with her.

"And the bleach will damage your hair . . ." Minako reached out and trailed her hands through the dark hair before her absently, deep in thought.

Whatever she had told Rei about highlights was true, but there was a part of her that refused to mar the rich ebony that was Rei's crowning glory. While Asians did naturally have dark-coloured hair, she knew that most had a very dark brown, either from sun exposure or chlorinated water. Rei's was . . . good genes maybe.

_Very good genes_, Minako thought dreamily.

The photographer's voice startled her out of her reverie.

"Then what do you suggest Aino-san?"

The answer popped up in her head without warning, and upon further consideration, she found herself grinning excitedly, if a little giddily. "Waves," she gushed with a snap of her fingers and looked to Rei for her input.

"Waves . . ." Rei mulled, playing with the idea in her head.

Minako picked up a lock of hair to demonstrate the design she had in her head. "We can start the waves from mid-length down," she indicated with her hand, "Or just natural loose waves overall, which in my opinion, will look absolutely gorgeous on you."

"The whole head then," Rei nodded slowly, violet eyes focused on her, as though searching for something. What exactly, Minako didn't know. "You're the expert, and I do value your opinion on this after all," Rei gave her a lopsided grin before adding on as if in an afterthought, or rather a confirmation, "_Only yours_."

Her opinion . . . was it because Rei did think _that_ highly of her? Or was she merely teasing her?

_Questions, questions, questions . . ._

Minako didn't like the ambiguity of the statement. She didn't like it one bit.

* * *

--

* * *

"Would you like something to drink while you're waiting Hino-san?"

Rei looked up from her PDA at the pretty aqua-haired hair stylist she had seen the previous time she was here. "Tea please," she replied with a small smile.

Michiru nodded. "I'll be right back."

Her eyes detected a slight movement in the reflection of the mirror, and she glanced to the corner, spotting Haruka giving her a warning stare as if to say '_Make a move on her and so help me if you are a customer, I will kick your ass.'_

Rei chuckled. While she was a flirt, she definitely wasn't a home wrecker. Besides, from what she had gathered from the little spat she had overheard earlier, that woman truly was a force to be reckoned with. She got the feeling that if she didn't slice your throat up close with a barber shear, she'd find a way to give you the worst dye job in a century to make you remember just how badly you screwed up every time you chanced a glance in a mirror. She had to be that efficient.

The photographer glanced up from her weekly schedule just in time as she saw Minako intercept a cup from Michiru and dismissed her in the general direction of a customer. She closed her schedule just as the owner of the salon glided up beside her, setting a steaming cup of green tea on the side table, one which she picked up almost immediately as it was set down.

Rei took a sip from the cup just as the professional hairstylist turned her attention to her.

"So," Minako started as she stepped back to lean with her shoulder against the wall, facing Rei. "How're you feeling so far? It can stink quite a bit." She motioned to Rei's head, which currently had rods sticking out all around, her hair held in their tight form around them by decidedly foul-smelling perm lotion.

Rei wrinkled her nose. "Tell me about it," she rolled her eyes. "If I'd known my head would smell like something crawled up in there and died, I wouldn't have agreed to this."

"Come now, it isn't that bad," Minako laughed.

Rei fixed her with the most serious look she could conjure amidst the blonde's gentle laughter, gaze level with cerulean. "It _is _that bad, Aino-san." But she supposed the effect would have been lost among the numerous rods jutting out of her head like she was a life-sized voodoo doll in the hands of a scorned lover . . . or a hairstylist. With the way the blonde was twirling a pair of scissors around her fingers, Rei suddenly felt afraid.

_Maybe I pushed her too far . . ._

The corner of the attractive hairstylist's lips quirked upwards in amusement. "Well then in that case, I suppose I should let you know that you can't wash your hair for forty-eight hours for the waves to set nicely."

_Yep. She's seeking revenge already._

Rei stared at her incredulously, sitting up straight in her seat as her eyes widened to the size of ceramic hair rollers. "Forty-eight hours?! That's two days!" she exclaimed and held up two fingers as if the emphasize her point.

"And the woman gets a million dollars!" Minako cheered in mock enthusiasm.

Rei deflated in her seat with a groan before glaring at the smirking hairstylist, "So on top of having to sit here with the stench for two _hours_, I've got to worry about the compounded funk from two _days_ of not washing my hair. Just what else did you not think to tell me earlier?" She narrowed her eyes at Minako.

Minako tossed golden tresses over her shoulder and smiled innocently. "If it helps, you can be sure that you won't turn out with an afro."

"_God _I'd hope not."

"You won't," the hairstylist assured. She even had soothing hand gestures to go with the words and Rei found it mildly comforting amidst the images of January Cover Girl that seemed on constant loop in her head all of a sudden. Which reminded her . . .

Rei stifled a chuckle.

With the way she and Minako seemed to be getting along (if one could call meaningless banter and intense gazes 'getting along'), she really didn't want to send the beautiful woman back into a floundering mess with the knowledge that she had been aware that Minako had been spying on her in the studio. Rei eyed the diamond encrusted watch that was wrapped delicately around the blonde's wrist, glinting softly in the salon lighting. She remembered how it had sparkled and dazzled with every frame she had snapped, the flashes catching on it easily, setting it alight with a brilliance that rivaled Venus on a starless night. And the best part was the blonde had been completely oblivious to the light show she had been giving her.

She glanced up at the timer set above the mirror just as the hairstylist did, watch gleaming distractingly, drawing her attention towards a fine-boned hand and downwards still to long, long fingers . . .

Rei snapped her head up as the owner of said hands spoke. "Well, just twenty more minutes and we can wash it off. Oh, hold on. There's a drop . . ." Minako walked round the chair she was sitting on, wiping off a drop of perm lotion that had trickled its way down the side of Rei's neck unsuspectingly. Rei tensed as she felt soft, tapered fingers on the sensitive skin. The fingers, along with the warmth, disappeared as Minako reached around her for something.

Whether it had been intended to or not, Rei found her attention helplessly drawn to the sliver of skin that Minako's shirt exposed when she had stretched for the towel. She dug her nails into the armrest of the seat. _This is bad._

While she had enjoyed teasing and goading a reaction from Minako ever since she had stepped into the salon, she definitely hadn't expected the way her body would react to every single one of the hairstylist's touch, that and how she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the woman for the life of her. And the worst part? Minako wasn't even _trying_.

She was about to start berating herself for setting the rope to a powder keg of temptation on fire when a sudden, insistent vibration jolted her out of her momentary stupor. Rei looked down at her PDA and groaned inwardly as she saw who was calling her. She was as eager to press the 'answer call' button to a work-related call as she was to empty an entire bottle of pepper spray into an eye.

"I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me," she directed towards the blonde who nodded in understanding.

Rei took in a deep breath and answered the call, noting with a pang of disappointment as the attractive hairstylist walked away. "Hino Rei."

She scowled darkly when her assistant photographer spoke up. "What's with everything being last minute today? And Takuma? Just cut to the chase, I'm rather busy right now," Rei drummed her fingers restlessly against the armrest, her patience wearing thin just seconds into the phone call.

"The Backstage Crew Special? What about it?" she pushed on, her tone taking on an irritated edge and she took another sip from her cup of tea and tried to calm down. It didn't work.

"_Spit it out Takuma_," Rei barked into the phone. "You know I like things straight up and fresh. I swear if you beat around the damned bush one more time I'll- . . . And you're telling me this because? . . . Look Takuma, I'm busy now and you call to tell me that we're in trouble. Have you even informed the production manager of the change-. . . Ok what am I asking? . . . of course you haven't. Alright, never mind. Just go find Jin-san now. Yes, _now_," Rei growled into the phone and was just about to hang up when Minako happened to cross in her line of vision in the mirror. She started in her seat, the rods in her hair almost falling out with the sudden motion, if that was possible.

"Hold on," Rei cut him off sharply. "I think I've got it. I'll call you back in twenty." And without waiting for a reply, she ended the call, a secret smile playing on her lips as the cogs in her head started turning.

* * *

--

* * *

"It's . . . I uh . . . _wow._"

It was all she could force out as her jaw took a downward plunge to the floor.

Rei sat in front of her, head tilted to the side in mock innocence as delicious dark waves framed her beautiful features and fell softly over her shoulders, the ends of luscious coils ending sexily just a little over the swells of her breasts.

It was then that Minako suddenly wished that she didn't have such a good eye for hair, because with the way things were going, she really wouldn't be surprised to find herself drowning in her own drool. That or she would soon be battling her body from launching itself at the gorgeous photographer, now made even more so by the work of her own hands. She cursed the gut feeling that had driven her into blow-drying Rei's hair upwards, giving such a voluminous body to her newly permed hair that she quickly scanned the salon for any of her co-workers – _anyone! _– in the event that she needed someone to restrain her, or perhaps lock her up in a straitjacket. _That would work nicely . . ._

"Aino-san?" The sex siren waved a hand in her face, grinning broadly as she sat back in the chair.

She shot upright and stood attentive. "Y-yes?" she asked quickly, almost harshly as she remembered what Rei was waiting for. "Oh, that's right. You want my opinion-"

"There's no need for that," Rei shook her head, loose waves swaying tantalizingly. A grin that would put the Cheshire cat to shame drew across her face as she eyed Minako's still star-struck expression. "Your face says it all."

She spent a few good seconds struggling to retain any amount of her dignity left, her mouth opening and closing as if to retort that. Minako froze with her hands in mid gesticulation, deflating eventually with the realization that it was futile and remained rooted to the spot, her legs completely out of her command by now as Rei eased out of her seat, a self-satisfied smirk on her full lips.

Time slowed and her heart thudded in her chest as Rei stepped forward, moving slowly towards her with half-lidded eyes. Her brain was flashing danger signs and sirens were going off, telling her to panic and run for the hills. But it wasn't a surprise, really, when she just stood there, petrified like a victim of Medusa, part of her already falling into sinful bliss. Minako could feel her own eyes widen for the umpteenth time today in almost the same agonizingly rate as Rei was leaning closer to her . . . closer and closer still . . .

She shut her eyes and held her breath.

"Here's your tip," A hot breath whispered into her ear, tickling the sensitive skin as a shudder made its way through her body. Something was pressed into her hand, crinkling softly. "And thank you for your time."

Frowning with the way things turned out, Minako was just about to open her mouth to refuse it when she felt a pair of warm lips touch her cheek in a light, wet kiss, lingering and setting her skin and other _bothered _places ablaze and wiping her mind as blank as a clean slate. Strands of raven hair brushed her parted lips and she remained frozen, face a portrait of unadulterated surprise as the photographer pulled back.

"By the way . . . I was meaning to ask you this."

Her head was spinning and miraculously, it somehow registered that Rei was speaking with the same lips that had been on her cheek. Still dazed, Minako murmured distractedly, "You can ask anything of me- I mean, you can ask me anything."

Rei chuckled. "Hold that thought," she advised and reached out, tucking a loose honeyed lock behind Minako's ear.

"How would you like to be part of a six-page special for the January issue of Tweens?"

* * *

**AN: **Is this considered a cliffie? I have no idea. Your call. So anyways . . .

Hi. Now, before I delve into the ugly details of why this chapter took so damned long, let me say first that I was struck with the feeling that if I didn't post it now, I'd never do it. School is screwing with my head and my writing style and that's just the surface of things. Peachy. Great, so . . . hey I didn't take a year this time. XD In any case, this chapter ran a lot longer than I had intended it to - surprise surprise - and in the midst of trying to pack in the plot (Yes, I've decided to quit being such a fangirl and actually sprinkle in some angst), I think I lost a bit of humour. Meh. I know where I wanna take this story, at least, and I think that's an improvement. Yay me. When it will all be up though? A very good question. First week of school and I'm decimated by tests. I don't know about you, but I can't write to save my life when I'm the least bit exhausted. So, thanks for sticking around all through my terrible habit of promising updates but never delivering. I love loyal readers. XOXOXOXOXOXOXO.

And for some reason any of you want to know how the wavy-haired Rei looks like? Think Olivia Wilde in one of her latest photo shoots. TO DIE FOR. Or pm me so I'll send you a link. I'm figuring die-hard Rei fans would go ballistic like I did. XD

So . . . will Minako accept the offer? Will our Goddess of Love and Beauty bear/bare all in the coming chapters? Stay tuned!

Right. That was cheesy. I'm heading off to bed now because cheese means I need sleep. Cheesy sleep. Sleepy cheese.

...

Ciao!


	4. Growth

**Posh Snippets**

_by_

_LicketySplat_

* * *

**Chapter 4: Growth**

"Minako-san . . ."

She glanced over at the occupant of the passenger seat briefly.

Setsuna spoke up measuredly. "Just to let you know, I'm on your side."

The owner of Venus Vogue laughed heartily, smoothly turning the Mini Cooper into the residential street. "Sides? What sides? There's absolutely no need for that, Setsuna."

Minako eased the car to a stop in front of the couple standing on the sidewalk and turned to face her skeptical employee. "She can't _possibly_ think I did it," Minako chuckled confidently. "There's no proof!"

Setsuna raised an eyebrow, as though amused. "Minako-san, she's Haruka. That says a lot in itself."

With that, Setsuna settled back comfortably in her seat and whatever words of assurance she would have liked to say to her employee, and more so to herself, were interrupted by the back door of the Mini Cooper swinging open to reveal the cheerful face of one aqua-haired hairstylist.

"Good morning! Oh and thanks for the lift Minako-san," Michiru chirped as she slid into the backseat with a decidedly sour-looking blonde in tow, the car shifting a bit to accommodate the grudging weight. The door slammed closed with a tad more force than Minako would have liked.

Minako met deep-blue eyes in the rearview mirror and waved a hand in the air dismissively as she struggled to return the smile, "Oh don't mention it Michiru. It's nice to drive my employees to work."

Minako pulled away from the sidewalk just as her ears picked up the not-so-subtle grumble of a sulking Haruka.

"'It's nice to drive my employees to work' she says…" huffed the boyish blonde from her seat on the side, glaring out the window with enough intensity that it seemed the cars passing by had spited her in some way or another.

Minako rolled her eyes. _Oh she can't be serious . . ._

From beside her, she heard Setsuna sigh – her very effective means to say 'I told you so'.

Minako forced teal eyes onto her own in the mirror with an exasperated 'Oh for goodness sakes' that she muttered under her breath as she manoeuvered through the early morning traffic. "Look, Haruka . . . I already told you," she drew out through her frustration. "I. Did. Not. Do. _It!"_

Haruka snorted and crossed her arms. "Such a coincidence then. Absolutely nothing to do with you I'm sure," the sandy-haired blonde murmured, sarcasm oozing with every word.

"Yes!" Minako exclaimed and threw her arms up in the air in her exasperation, the car swerving dangerously before she quickly regained control of the wheel.

"As if I'm believing that. I only had your best interests at heart and you one-upped me! That's way below the belt Minako-san," Haruka sunk low into her seat, face scrunched up into a petulant scowl. From the passenger seat next to her, Minako saw Setsuna roll her garnet eyes but kept silent otherwise.

She seethed. "For the thousandth time already woman, I didn't slash your _damned car tyres_!"

Her last few words were raised into an alarmed yell just as her foot slammed down onto the brake when an SUV cut into their lane without warning. The car jerked violently to a halt, the other occupants in the car a hair's breadth away from suffering from vicious whiplash. There was a muted thud from the backseat which Minako guessed came from the blonde's head ricocheting off the back Setsuna's headrest.

"Damn it! Did you have to do that?!" cursed the short-haired blonde from the backseat as she rubbed her forehead.

"Haruka dear . . . come now, belt up!" Michiru urged quietly a tinge of irritation in her dulcet voice, placing a comforting (if not annoyed) hand in the crook of her lover's elbow. "Minako-san had back to back appointments in the salon the whole time. There's no way that she could have-"

"She could've stopped some neighbourhood hooligans along the way, shoved a ten into each of their crummy hands and sicced them on my Cayman for all you know!"

"Yeah and I somehow managed to hand out a couple of the salon's razors, declaring with maniacal laughter: _'Go forth my minions!' _and set them on your car," Minako bit back sarcastically.

"Exactly! You see she's-!" Haruka began before Minako yanked the wheel sharply to the left towards the nearest exit to escape the next hundred metres or so of early morning madness, cutting her employee off as the car veered in her favour, squashing the lanky blonde in the back seat against the door as inertia worked its wonders on her. No words were able to describe the sense of satisfaction she gained from the strangled squeak that she heard.

"_This_," Haruka shook an indignant fist at the driver as she rearranged herself into a proper seating position again, quickly pawing for the seat belt. "Is what I get for practically delivering Miss Photographer straight into her hands! And to think I cared enough!"

Minako spared her a withering glance in the rearview mirror as she slowed the car at a red light.

The blonde rambled on. "And you got a kiss! We should be talking about a pay raise here!" she all but declared with a sweep of her arms. Michiru shoved one away from her face.

The car shot off the moment the light changed, Minako's foot pressed firmly on the accelerator as she muttered furiously, "You wanna talk about pay? Ooooh, we'll talk about pay alright. You just wait till we get to the salon and maybe we'll even discuss your lack thereof for the next six months." The car zipped angrily through the lighter traffic.

"A-ah, Minako-san?" Michiru raised a tentative hand in the air, less than thrilled to get caught in the cross-fire, and spoke up shakily. "I get motion sickness rather easily . . . would it make things better if I boot Haruka out the door?"

"Michiru!" her lover exclaimed in betrayal.

"I second that," came the hushed voice of Setsuna and Minako was startled for a moment, having almost forgotten that she was in the car, and next to her no less.

"I warned you already," the aqua-haired stylist wagged a finger at her partner, somehow managing to look stern given her pallid countenance. "But you just had to play the sixty-year-old match-making granny. Now I'm paying for it too."

Minako gave her a sheepish smile. "Sorry Michiru. I owe you a cup of tea when we get to the salon."

The normally silent emerald-haired hairstylist spoke up again, her quiet tone garnering everyone's rapt attention. "It's a wonder how she sits through Haruka's daily driving."

_Now **that's** a thought..._

"Well . . ." the elegant stylist began, light laughter dancing in her voice. Minako looked up curiously into the rearview mirror, meeting a mischievous glint in Michiru's eyes. "That's what these are for." Michiru held up a hefty crocodile-skinned clutch the size of a computer keyboard, perfect for sending an individual into cowering submission – or restraint at the wheel, at least.

"And I used to wonder why you have so many of those. They must be awfully useful, aren't they?" the driver grinned as a thought occurred to her. "Say, you wouldn't happen to be able to get me one would you, Michiru? It could prove a significant leverage in a negotiation, not to mention a _deterrent_." She directed an incinerating glare at Haruka, who had chosen that moment to plaster herself to the window miserably, finally dissolving into long-awaited silence as her own lover discussed torture techniques in her midst. And if one listened closely enough, they would be able to hear the suffering mumbles of _'She-devils . . . the whole lot of them . . .'_

"So Minako-san, have you decided?" Michiru inquired once she was sure Haruka's ego was bruised enough to keep her silent.

Minako sighed. She knew what Michiru was asking, but she just didn't feel like thinking about it, let alone talking about it, so she merely offered a non-committal, "Mmm."

"It'll be great for publicity, and all you have to do is to share about your passion. It's a double win.

"Mmm," she pretended to ponder carefully on what Michiru said as though really considering it for the first time when in actuality, it was the sole reason why she hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. She really didn't want to think about it. Light-headedness and butterflies in her stomach just by thinking of something related to Rei? Can't be good.

"_Oh for goodness sakes woman!"_ came the inevitable burst of Haruka's voice from the back seat and a noticeable jerk of the car. "Just go ahead and do it! Even if you're not all about the interview, at least bed that vixen!"

Michiru clucked her tongue in disapproval. "Haruka, stop being so crude," she admonished before turning her attention towards Minako. "But really Minako-san, I think you should go for it."

"And come back with a new conquest! Doesn't matter if it's not Photographer Babe."

Minako scoffed. "So what you're saying . . . is that I should whore around more?"

"Yes!" Haruka smiled indulgently at her, like a proud parent.

"And you?" Minako eyed Michiru warily.

The hairstylist tapped her chin thoughtfully, jokingly. "It has been quite a while now Minako-san, don't you think?"

"You want to know what I think?" Minako sighed and slid the car into the parking lot behind the salon and killed the engine.

The silence was mud-thick with anticipation.

"I agree."

In the sudden, stifling silence of the Mini Cooper, three disbelieving voices cried out in perfect unison, "You do?!"

Minako grinned widely and stretched. "Well, yes. I am going to do the interview, score lots of publicity points for the salon, survey the editorial models that are guaranteed to be there and head home with a new catch. But of course I've got my eye on only one, so that scenario is for if - and only if! - all else fails," she nodded to herself in conviction. "Whatever the case, I'm definitely breaking my year-long celibacy tonight. Doesn't that just make you proud?"

The stunned silence was palpable and for the first time, Haruka couldn't sense a trace of contempt or bitterness in Minako's words. She hadn't heard her wrong, had she? How was she to respond to this sudden pledge? "T-that's wonderful! Fabulous even! Great work Minako-san! We'll be behind you all the way!"

The couple of hesitant chuckles somehow seemed to bolster Minako's confidence. "Right! Now out you go! Get the salon up and running, I've got a call to make."

They shuffled out of the car in shock and into the salon, leaving Minako in the car with her cellphone.

Haruka turned to Michiru with eyes that contained a spark of panic as she fumbled with opening the door. "Do you think she's joking? Were we were pushing it? Maybe she's finally snapped," she rattled out worriedly, frantically looking between her colleagues.

"Maybe we should head back and dissuade her . . ." Michiru began hastily and was just about to turn around when a hand stopped her.

"Don't," Setsuna locked a level gaze with hers calmly. "Let it run its course. We'll just wait and see what happens. At the most, we probably won't have anyone to give us a lift tomorrow morning."

* * *

--

* * *

She strutted into the Tweens building, heels clicking on the polished marble and gait confident as she approached the front desk, her leather tote overflowing with supplies slung casually over her shoulder.

"Hi," she flashed the pretty receptionist her used-only-during-special-occasions winning smile, and she felt a faint sense of satisfaction at the wide-eyed stare – the good sort of a wide-eyed stare – that the woman looked up at her with. "I'm here for the Backstage Crew Special interview."

"And who might you be?"

"Aino Minako," she stated fluidly, flicking her hair over her shoulder in a manner enough to be impressive yet not overly obnoxious.

The woman seemed stunned for a second before remembering protocol. "Just a moment . . ." she indicated with a nod and picked up a phone. "Jin-san? Aino Minako is here. Yes . . . alright, thank you."

The receptionist smiled shyly. "Tenth floor Studio D."

"Thank you." And with a wink and cheeky grin, she headed towards the elevator bank, feeling the receptionist's eyes on her back and her confidence rising.

Today would be a good day - she felt it in her bones. And even if the circumstances acted against it, _she _would make it so. There was no way in hell she was going to let this opportunity pass her by, and not merely career wise. The day had started out reasonably well, ignoring the in-car diatribe, and at twelve in the afternoon, she dare said she felt excited amidst all the nerves she was beginning to feel.

"_One of the guests for the six-page spread can't make it for the interview and photo shoot. And there's no way we can cut down the number of allotted pages for the special without Chiba-san flipping. We're closing the January issue within a week and we're short of one guest interview."_

Of course Minako couldn't refuse. Tweens had, after all, called her in occasionally to help with special cover and guest shoots, so in exchange for all the wonderful opportunities (and a hefty pay check), surely she could do them a favour. That and the fact that this would truly be great publicity for the salon, not that she needed it particularly, but who could complain? Just drop in, do an interview and photo shoot and the deal was sealed. Easy. Now if only she could stop all that fluttering in her stomach . . .

"_It'll be quick, I promise. The readers would love to know more about people who work behind the scenes; because as we all know it, cover girls and models are merely the outward, more tangible forms of our successes. People may know the name of the individual behind that asymmetrical crop but not the face or the years of hard work. That's where you come in."_

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a wide cabin in lacquered wood. She slipped into it and pressed the '10', feeling light-headed (unsure if it was from the speed at which the elevator was hurtling upwards with or the damned butterflies which had now migrated throughout her being).

"_You don't have to wear anything too formal. No suits, as much as I'd think you'd look gorgeous in one. Go for chic or stylish and don't worry too much about make-up and hair, we've got people for that. Just be here by one in the afternoon. Oh, and thanks for doing this. You have no idea how many necks you've saved. I owe you."_

She had rushed to say that no repayment was required, the politically correct behaviour, while on the inside she was simply thrilled when Rei insisted.

Just before the elevator reached her floor, she quickly glanced in one of the large mirrors that took up all sides of the cabin. Rei had said not to bother with hair and make-up, but seriously, she was telling a hairstylist that? Minako would never leave her apartment, for an interview no less, without looking anything short of stunning. She had created waves for herself with the curling iron and smoothed on some soft wax, mussing up the top, finishing off with sensuous out-of-bed hair she only saved when the occasion called for it. Knowing that the make-up people would heap on the stuff when she got there, she'd only bothered with light foundation, a quick dab of white shimmer powder on the corners of her eyes and a slick of lip gloss. Throwing on a pair of navy blue skinny jeans and a light grey off-shoulder drape top complete with a chunky beaded necklace, she was out of her house with her Manolos and trench coat.

She located the double doors of Studio D without difficulty and stood in front of them, unsure whether as to knock or enter.

Did a studio warrant a knock? Would it even be heard? She ended her internal battle and pushed the door open, stepping in and looking around in confusion for a while before a voice called out, "Aino Minako?"

* * *

**AN:** I have not given up on this story. In fact, I'd very much like to re-write certain sections of the chapters that didn't sit well with me a year ago, and are still bothering the beejeezus out of me. This chapter is much more of a teaser and a break from the deathly silence from me. I do hope there are people still reading this because I intend to finish this baby and actually get to boast that I've completed_ a story_. This chapter has been sitting around in my hard drive for too long and so it's up. What was exceptionally heartening through the past year were the number of reviews and personal messages I got, some of varying degress of despair that I hadn't updated and some of sheer panic that I'd abandoned this story. I may not have replied to all of you, but I'm here acknowledging that I've heard every single one of you and I promise to see this to the end. You all have been really encouraging and I couldn't ask for more. So thank you for your patience.


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